


A second chance

by Upset



Category: Serial Killers - Fandom
Genre: Jeffrey Dahmer - Freeform, Other, POV Second Person, Resurrection, Second Chances, jeffrey Dahmer x reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upset/pseuds/Upset
Summary: You’ve been given the gift of resurrection, by God, who can say?However, you unknowingly bring back something much bigger and more dangerous than yourself, but you aren’t so quick to give him up.Will you be able to keep the Milwaukee Monster under control and show him how to adapt to a much different society, one that he may very well thrive in?





	1. Can It Be Anybody?

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify any misunderstandings about this piece:  
> I absolutely am NOT condoning any of Jeffrey’s monstrous actions, and I am in no way glorifying the killer himself. I am also not lessening the validity of the grief of victims’ families. This is nothing more than a psychological experiment based on a question I often asked myself regarding Jeffrey’s early life and circumstances: could he have had a chance at a normal life in our current society, one that has come to accept homosexuality and views a fascination with paleontology as potential rather than freakish sickness?   
> Again, this is just a little scenario based on a question I wondered. I am NOT trying to put this man’s crimes on a pedestal. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this little piece. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a simple question, one with consequences you couldn’t have expected.

“If you could bring anybody back from the dead, who would you choose?” 

 

You stopped and snapped your head to the side, perplexed.

“Where did that come from?” You asked with a confused chuckle. Your very best friend, Danny, smiled and showed teeth, laughing alongside you. 

“I don’t know. Just thought about it.” He kicked his feet back and forth against the side of your bed, and you two sat in silence for a brief moment. 

“Can it be anybody?” You asked. “Like, famous or no?” 

“Yeah, anybody.” He affirmed with a sure nod. You hummed to yourself, combing through as many notorious faces as possible. Many stood out: Robin Williams, William Shakespeare, Steve Irwin, Ronald Reagan. So many names. All of them would be stupendous to have lunch with. The stories they’d have for you. Their outlooks on life. So much to learn. However, there seemed to be an underlying problem with all of them: 

They just didn’t need to be back. 

You realized how difficult it would be for Shakespeare to adjust to your dirty, modern, ever changing society. Steve Irwin died doing what he loved and didn’t need to be exposed to such an ugly world. Not again. It didn’t deserve him. Robin Williams didn’t even want to be there, so bringing him back would only be a disturbance. A slap in the face. He left because he was unhappy, and that hurt you. Thinking about it, there were very few people who you felt qualified for such a society. Who could accept the grittiness of it all. Who would want to be back. Truly, the ugliest of people deserved to come back for round two. They could handle it. They could survive. Hell, maybe even better themselves. Your mind strayed, against your will, to a much darker place than you expected. A few serial murders came to mind, and suddenly, an infamous name surfaced its way to your lips. 

“Jeffrey Dahmer.” 

You answered without thought, only then realizing how quiet it had been until that moment. You glanced over to Danny, whose face contorted into an expression of near disgust. That obviously wasn’t the answer he was expecting. 

“Why...?” He asked very slowly, sitting perfectly still at that point. Your eyes fell to the intricate pattern of your bed sheets, searching for a rational explanation. It seemed much clearer in your head, but trying to explain it out loud proved to be much more difficult than anticipated.

“Well,” you started, “I think a lot of what happened could’ve been avoided if he were alive in these times, ya know?” 

“No, I really don’t.” He laughed and shook his head. “Elaborate.” 

“Well, I mean... think about it.” You sat up straight and leaned closer to Danny. “He was born in a time where being gay was a huge no-no. That was one of lots of things he felt like he had to hide. I don’t know, I just- I feel like he wouldn’t have had as much to keep to himself and he could’ve been more open to people. His entire life wouldn’t have been such a secret.” You stopped and looked at Danny, a waiting expression on his face. 

“Yeah...? Keep going.” He urged. 

“I mean, that was a pretty big factor. I also feel like his interest in bones is a little more normal today, ya know?” You paused, and Danny nodded. “People looked at that kinda stuff as weird back then. If you were into cutting shit open for fun and thought it was cool, you were a freak. But like, now that’s an entire career choice and hobby. Forensics. Taxidermy. They make so many tv shows about that shit.” You stopped to corral your thoughts, then continued. “I don’t know, I just think he wouldn’t be so outcasted in today’s time. ‘Weird’ isn’t really weird anymore. I just think he may have a chance at a normal life here, ya know, with the weird sex slave shit. He even said he wouldn’t have killed anyone if they’d just stayed with him for a few weeks. And people nowadays do that shit all the time, living in people’s basements and being pets and shit. That’s the norm.” You stopped and took an actual breath, eyes on Danny for any signs of a particular emotion. Nothing stood out in his eyes. His expression was perfectly neutral.

“Hmm.” That was all Danny said. 

“Well?” You asked with your fingers interlocked. 

“I like it. I mean, it makes sense.” He chuckled. “A little in depth, but yeah. It’s a neat answer. Also kinda cool because it’s where we live too.” 

“Ha, yeah. Good ol’ Milwaukee.” You sighed amusedly. “Do you think he could?” You then inquired thoughtlessly.

“What? Survive this day and age? Hmm, I’m not sure. It’s possible.” He affirmed, and like that, the room got quiet. The silence lingered, and a slight buzzing of vacancy filling the gaps of where conversation should’ve been. After a minute, Danny shot a glance to you. 

“I’d choose Vincent Price.” He whispered, a cheesy grin on his face. You both busted into a fit of laughter, and it soon died into light giggles. “I mean, he’s my dad. Can’t help it. I gotta.” 

“Hell, you wish he was.” 

 

 

Later that night after Danny had gone home, you sat back in bed, your feet dangling into the void. It only then occurred to you how boring living alone had become. At first, the freedom of a house without parents and siblings was a refreshing medicine long overdue. Now, it was stale and too quiet for your liking. Maybe that was why you liked Danny over at your place so much. He brought much needed life to that one bedroom prison of yours. To ward away the nerves of silence, you took the initiative to get up and be as productive as you could at the moment. A quick journey from your bedroom to the living room was all it took to feel better, and with a quick flick of a switch, the tv roared to life. 

“Much better.” You noted, starting into the kitchen. A quick midnight snack- or meal, rather- would wind your night down to a much more settled close. However, as you passed the large set of windows in the living room, a faint movement caught your attention. It could just barely be seen through the thin curtains, but it was undoubtedly there. Probably some crazy old homeless man. Even still, you stopped in place, tilted your head for a better look, then pushed back the baby blue drapery with your fingertip discretely. It was, just as suspected, a person wandering through the neighborhood street, illuminated by a single lamp. The figure looked to be crouched lower to the ground with arms spread out, as if the person were searching for something.

“Jesus Christ, crazy old fuckers.” You muttered, unnerved by the sense of befuddlement in the person’s seemingly lost movements. You squinted your eyes and leaned closer into the window, realizing two very distinct facts.  
One, the person was most definitely a man, and a very largely built one at that. His frame was extremely tall and broad, hunched over on the road.  
And two, he had dropped his glasses on the side of the street. You could tell because the pair was sitting at the edge of your driveway, the lenses glinting in the street lamp. He stumbled helplessly in the pitch black of night, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the man. Against your better judgement, you made for the front door hastily and twisted the knob, pushing the door wide open. He stopped moving after nearly falling to the ground and turned in your direction. 

“Hey,” you called out to the man, inching slowly to him, “I found your glasses.” At the end of your driveway, you scooped the clunky, square framed glasses up from the ground and cleaned the lenses with the end of your t-shirt. 

“Oh, thank you.” The man’s bland, deep, and slightly nasally voice flowed forth. You couldn’t place why, but his tone seemed to rid you of the anxiety you were feeling in the dark with a stranger. As you stepped to the figure in distress, his glasses in hand, you noticed his mountainous shoulders shaking from the cold. It was 30°, after all. Poor guy. You reached his fairly large outstretched hand, trembling horribly, and placed the glasses into his palm with confidence. “Thank you so much.” He expressed his gratitude sincerely, yet with little emotion embedded in his words. 

“You’re welcome. Would you like-“ you started to offer him a hot meal or shower or anything to warm him up, and that’s when you stopped. At first, it took a moment to realize why the figure seemed so familiar. When it clicked, Your blood nearly stood still, hair standing on end, breath stolen from your lungs as the man stepped directly into the street light and put the glasses on his face. You could hardly believe the sight. 

It was, without a sliver of doubt, Jeffrey Lionel Dahmer.


	2. You Can Stay Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How long will you be able to hide the man of a monster himself? Where do you even start? With questions? Conversation? Hot soup? Perhaps. All you know for sure is that nobody can know he’s in your home.

You two sat inside at the kitchen table, your eyes locked on him. You couldn’t stop staring, even as you prepared a bowl of hot potato soup for him. Your gaze endured through the entire process. You were almost certain you held a consistent flash of sheer horror in your eyes, and he could most definitely see it. 

“Do you know who you are?” You finally asked. It took you a good half hour to produce words of any kind to the man. Most of your time in the kitchen with him was spent in panicked thought, wondering how the hell this was even possible. He was supposed to have been dead since 1994, yet here he was, in your home with a mouthful of soup in 2019. You even assumed that he wasn’t actually Jeffrey Dahmer himself. Rather, the man who looked disturbingly similar to him. However, the scarring on the back of his head screamed otherwise. You continuously scanned him up and down, taking note of the way his shoulders slouched forward when he sat. His body took up the entire seat, shoulders and chest covered by a quilt your grandmother made for you. He was undoubtedly Jeffrey. 

“Yes. I’m Jeffrey.” He answered simply. 

“Do you know how you got here?” You continued to probe. 

“No. I don’t.” 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” You leaned in closer to him, careful not to ask too frantically. You didn’t want him to freak out. Though, he was surprisingly calm anyways. Calm and polite, sitting properly and eating neatly. 

“I was opening a large, bright door.” He flicked his bottom lip with his tongue absentmindedly. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay...? What happened before that? Do you remember?” You steadied your tone to keep it from cracking. He sat still for a moment, his clear blue eyes darting from place to place in thought.

“I was hit over the head with a metal bar. Then uh... I was slammed against a wall. Repeatedly.” He adjusted his glasses, placing his hands in his lap. He kept his head down, and all the while, you kept a cautious eye on him. 

“So you remember everything? Your... time of death and how it felt?” 

“Yes.” He replied. “I guess I shouldn’t have poked Scarver in the back.” He chuckled to himself bitterly, though it quickly faded into silence. “He never liked me.” You weren’t sure how to react, so you nodded your head and soaked it all in. 

“What did you do in prison?” You asked. “Can you remember?” He took a breath and pursed his lips, thinking back. 

“Mostly scare people.” His lip twitched into a near amused grin. “I didn’t mean any harm though. Just for laughs. But it was mostly work and church services for me.” 

“I see.” You cleared your throat, unsure where to go from there. “Do you still feel any... urges? Ya know, with the stuff you did before?” 

“The killings?” He asked, taking another mouthful of potato soup, and you nodded. He waited until his food was swallowed and mouth was wiped before responding. “No, not really.” He went quiet, most likely thinking, and God did you wish you could’ve known what was going on in his head. This continued for a moment. “I don’t want to do that anymore.” He gave you a set of baby blue gutwrenchers, and you nodded in accord. “I’ve given my life to the Lord, and I don’t like who I was then. When I did that.” He went quiet yet again, and he glanced around the room, taking it all in for the first time. Your apartment was nothing special, but he seemed transfixed with each and every crack in the walls. The only real beauty came from the cheap art you’d scribbled onto canvas and hung on the walls. His stare lingered on a specific piece for a long few minutes until he snapped away from it. “I don’t know why I’m here.” He admitted, confused and sounding almost ashamed. 

“You’ve been given a second chance, I guess.” You assured him. “That’s good, right?” 

“I, uh... I don’t know.” He licked his lips again. “I suppose so. I’m just not quite sure where to go from here.” 

“Well...” You stopped, careful to think long and hard about your next decision. “You can stay here until you can get yourself together.” 

“Oh no, I couldn’t impose like that.” Jeffrey quickly interjected, putting his hand up. This just wouldn’t do. He couldn’t go back out there and attempt to fend for himself. Not with no place to go. It didn’t help that you felt responsible for what was happening. You had absolutely no idea how, but he came back because you chose him. You said you’d bring him back from the grave if you could bring anyone in the world back, and now, it was coming back to you. He was sent to you. 

“Mr. Dahmer-“ 

“Jeffrey.” He cut you off articulately, politely. 

“Jeffrey, I can’t let you go out there and get hurt. Or worse...” you trailed away. “You need to stay here at least for tonight. Please.” You nearly begged, and for the next few grueling seconds, waited for a response from the sturdy man. His eyes settled on yours, devoid of emotion, though grateful, and you could see that. 

“I’ll get myself situated as quickly as possible.” He assured you with a firmly set jaw. You nodded and started for the closet to your right. After a bit of digging, you pulled out a thick blanket and two pillows, setting them on the pullout couch in the living room. He watched your every movement with intensity, though you couldn’t sense any malice in his observation. He was just deeply curious. About what, you weren’t sure.

“You stay as long as you need. I don’t want you going out there just yet.” You alerted him. 

“Why?” He asked innocently enough. 

“Jeffrey.” You motioned for him to meet you at the couch, and he shuffled awkwardly to you, your quilt still draped around his largely built figure. You both sat on the couch, and he watched in wonder as you pulled out your phone and pulled up Google. You typed his first name, and his last immediately followed. There were more searches and articles about him than you could even begin to comb through, and you scrolled for a good amount of time, making sure he could see. “You’re one of the most recognizable people in America. People will know who you are as soon as they see you. You’re very popular.” You enlightened him. “A lot more than you used to be.” He stared at the screen for a few seconds, most likely more interested in the update in technology than his fame, and he soon cut his attention back to you. 

“I understand.” He replied gently. “Thank you for letting me stay here. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course. Consider me a friend, Jeffrey.” You smiled weakly, shaking in your skin in his presence. He was intimidating, and in the eeriest way. “I do have some rules though.” He turned to you, a very attentive set of eyes behind glass on you. “First rule: no drinking. At all. I don’t keep any here, and I don’t want it in the house.” You were firm on this one, knowing all about his hopeless teenage alcoholism to dull the twisted desires that surged through his head. He nodded with every word, on board and understanding exactly why you were stressing that rule. 

“Yes, I completely understand.” He agreed with a nod. 

“Second rule: you have to attend service every Sunday. I would feel a lot better if you went with me.” 

“That’d be nice, yes.” He nodded once again, adjusting his glasses. 

“Lastly, and I cannot stress this one enough: do NOT come into contact with anybody for now. Even if you think you’ll be okay. I don’t want you to fall back into old habits or hurt someone, so you need to stay away from people until further notice.” You paused and waited for a response. None came. He simply kept his head down, as usual. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to anybody else. I want you to be healthy.” 

“I understand.” He affirmed, and he meant it. He truly did understand, and you could see the seriousness in his eyes. He wanted to be better. 

“Okay, good. I’ll explain a lot more to you in the morning, okay Jeffrey?” 

“Okay.” He nodded, hands still in his lap. Even as you got up from the couch and turned off the lights, he didn’t move a muscle. “Goodnight, Jeffrey.” You called to him. He said something back that you couldn’t understand, and you assumed that it was the same parting. 

 

You hardly slept. Instead, you stared at the locked door handle until the sun came up. You couldn’t recall ever needing to lock your own bedroom door. That is, until now. What was the plan now? How would he live without being recognized? How would you keep him from acting out? More importantly, how would you be able to hide him from Danny? From the world? 

You couldn’t believe yourself, but you were willing to try.


	3. A Little Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re a little nervous about Jeffrey’s ability to blend in.

Jeffrey Dahmer spent the next three days at your apartment, all of that time learning the ins and outs of modern society. You explained how much stricter laws have gotten. What language was and wasn’t accepted. What behavior would and would not draw attention. He was especially pleased to learn that gay marriage had been legalized and acknowledged, as well as the less taboo lifestyle of BDSM. Perfectly safe. Perfectly normal... to some.  
You realized about halfway through your conversations with the resurrected killer that his attire didn’t quite fit. He looked to be stuck in rural 80s, his very neat collared shirt tucked in and dress pants secured high with a belt. Sure, modern style seemed to just be a hosh posh of multiple nostalgic time periods, but you ultimately decided that it was better to stick with an overall modern look. You didn’t want him to draw too much attention to himself, and his height and build already wasn’t helping him much. He was, indeed, “built like a linebacker”, as put by an old friend of his. He had a monstrous frame. 

The day you went clothes shopping for him, you decided to take him out with you. It was the best opportunity for him to ease into his new environment, and hopefully, without people noticing him. That, and it was easier than hoping you could guess what size clothes would fit his brawny shoulders and waist. You were unnerved for sure, worried that in Milwaukee, people would point him out immediately. He noticed that you were sweating profusely from your forehead and cheeks and asked what was wrong, though you assured him everything was just fine. 

“I know you’re worried that people will notice.” He stated simply as the two of you drove to the nearest and smallest shopping center with the fewest people. You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your eyes on the road. “I think I’ll be fine.” You darted your eyes to him for a millisecond, taking note of his ever-enduring odd posture again. He kept his hands in his lap, eyes bathing in the world around him with an expression you couldn’t pinpoint. He was difficult to read. Perhaps that’s why nobody could ever guess what he was doing. The thought sent a chill to your bones. 

 

“Well, what do you think?” You asked him as he stepped from the dressing room. He looked down at the nicely fitted jeans and grey v-neck shirt covered with a black bomber type jacket. It certainly wasn’t his style at all, but damn, it looked good. Even on him. He picked his feet up for a better look at the black Chelseas you picked out for him, silent as can be. “Well?” He shot a look to you, unsure but not opposed. 

“I don’t know. Does it look decent?” He asked, and you nodded gladly. He turned to the mirror for further inspection, shifting every which angle. 

“You blend in well,” you reassured him, looking him up and down, “except the glasses.” He jerked his head up and cleared his throat, adjusting the boxy spectacles that rested on his nose. 

“What’s wrong with them?” He asked curiously and took them off. 

“They’re just too...” you searched for the right word, though few surfaced, “iconic.” He released a small sigh, defeated. “If you wear those, people will know who you are pretty fast.”

“Yeah, I understand.” He surrendered to your word. “How should I go about them?” 

“We’ll pick you out some different ones that’ll change your face shape. Ya know, smaller lenses, more circular, thicker frames to cover more area.” You thought aloud. “But you can wear whatever you want when we get back home. Just out in public...” you trailed off, and he nodded. “I’ll pay for the clothes so you can change back into them.” You offered a hand, and he lumbered back into the dressing room, seeming troubled but taciturn as usual. A series of zips and button popping lead to a brief silence, then his coarse hand poked out from the top of the door, clothes bundled in his palm. You left him to pay for the clothes, waiting in line with frantic impatience tugging at your sleeve. He never left your mind. 

This might actually work. There was a chance he could really stay here undetected. You felt a bit more at ease. 

 

You ventured down the street with Dahmer plodding behind, shifting in his new clothes. He couldn’t look comfortable no matter what he wore, and it kind of saddened you. Just when you thought he could possibly live a relatively normal life, you took a good enough look at him and questioned yourself. You shook it away as best as you could, focusing on what to do from here. As you strolled, you looked back and noticed Jeffrey slowing to a complete stop, his gaze shifting from person to person. He kept his eyes on each young man that passed for an unnerving amount of time. He couldn’t help himself. He stared. 

“Hey.” You met him and grabbed him by the wrist, snapping him back into reality. “Are you okay?” He didn’t say much, only ‘yes’, adjusting his new glasses. “Jeffrey, what’s going on?” You shook his wrist lightly. “I need you to be honest with me.” He lowered his head, and you pulled him to the nearest store corner. He sat down on a bench beside you, rubbing his face with his hands and sighing in frustration. He spoke once he gathered himself and straightened on the bench. 

“I lied to you earlier,” He spoke clearly, no murmuring or trailing, “when I said those compulsive thoughts and urges had subsided.”

“They’re still coming up?” You questioned, a hot drop of dread spreading through your chest like dye in water. A nod from his blonde head was the jolt of static in your shoulders you hoped to avoid. That’s when you realized the crushing reality of the situation: the sick fantasies and impulses were NOT going anywhere. They were beyond his control. Thoughts, at least. He hadn’t acted on them, and that gave you a small sense of hope. He still had a chance. All you needed to do was keep his headspace occupied and hopeful. 

You sighed and turned to him, only then noticing how transfixed he was on the men that passed by. Though, there was no stab of urgency in his pupils, nor an undressing with the irises. He looked curious, and that was all. He wasn’t staring with intent or reason. Jeffrey just wanted to look at him. 

“I’m sorry.” He said to you with a pitiful drop of his shoulders. “I can’t stop it.” 

“Don’t be sorry for something you can’t control.” You advised. “I’ll get you help and you won’t have to think about it anymore, okay?” He nodded, unconvinced but trusting. 

As you spoke to him about the importance of trusting you, you noticed him growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn’t keep his eyes to himself, darting from man to man curiously. You could only imagine what he was doing to those men in his head. What he was allowing himself to think. There was an eerie stillness about him, as if he were caught in a tractor beam, completely immobilized with captivation. It hadn’t occurred to you before, but the men of your modern age looked significantly different than his. Darker style, sharper features, cleaner hairstyles. Jeffrey had to have been shell shocked. He absorbed each and every person as they walked, then in an instant, he had himself on a leash. A grip on himself. He looked to you. 

“You were right about blending in.” He noted without emotion. He was nervous. 

“I think we should head back home.” You suggested quickly but in the calmest way you could. “Is that okay?” He kept a gaze locked on you in an attempt not to stare, though you could tell it was a struggle for him. 

“Yes.” He stood with you, close to your side, towering over you. You both started for home. 

On the way, a faint whistle sounded behind you, and you turned around. There was a man leaning against a lamp post at the edge of the street, ripped skinny jeans and small hoops in his ears. His head, a beautiful mess of curls and well-maintained dreads, and his eyes, finished with sharp black liner. He was looking at Jeffrey. Jeffrey stopped, looked himself up and down, then turned back to the guy. His lips formed a smirk so quickly you almost missed it, then his expression fell back to stone. 

“Jeffrey.” You urged. He pulled himself back to you, a touch of guilt in his cheeks. Without another word, he followed you home, eyes down.


	4. Unexpected Drop In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You plan a trip, but without Dahmer? No way. Everything is going fine, until an unexpected and most unpleasant drop in occurs. Will someone find out who he is? Can you hide it?

“Ok, so I have to visit my great aunt in Atlanta, so I might be gone for about a week or-“ you started to explain to Jeffrey as he sat on the couch with you, then you stopped. He turned, square-framed eyes on you, waiting. You gave the idea of leaving the Milwaukee Cannibal in Milwaukee alone for a week more thought, and suddenly, you shook your head violently. “Okay, so change of plans.” You restarted. “I think it’d be better if you came with me.” 

“Atlanta?” He asked, and you confirmed. 

“It won’t be too long, unless you don’t want to be gone that long, then we can leave earlier.” You assured him, and he took a long breath. 

“No, I think I’ll be fine. I don’t have anywhere to go.” He nearly smiled amusedly. 

“Okay, good. We’ll have fun.” You waltzed into the kitchen and towards the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water for Jeffrey. He moved like a phantom to meet you, taking a seat in the kitchen. His hand accidentally touched yours while passing the bottle to him, and for a moment, you thought about how surreal Jeffrey Dahmer’s hand touching yours was. The things he’s done with them. The people he’s hurt. It was crazy.

“Why are you helping me?” He asked without malice as he twisted the cap off and took a swig of water. His question was one of genuine curiosity, but it came out of nowhere. You thought about a possible answer for a good few seconds, and by the time you could gather your thoughts and look directly at him, half the water had long been chugged. “I wouldn’t help me.” He added before you had a chance to speak, and while it broke your heart to hear, you ignored his final comment. 

“This is my fault, Jeffrey.” You sighed. He gave you a puzzled look, a green light to explain yourself. “I was asked a question, and I answered it with your name. I’d bring you back if I could. And then you just show up from the grave. You died.” You thought aloud, no particular meaning behind your words, just speech. You just wanted to wrap your head around what you were saying, and though it was hardly tangible, Jeffrey hung on to every word. “It just doesn’t make any sense. It’s impossible,” You began babbling, “but you’re here because of me, and I’m going to help you.” 

“You don’t owe me any help.” He noted, matter-of-fact. “I’m here, and I’m responsible for myself and my actions. Besides, I don’t believe anything could really help me. I don’t know what can.” 

“Well, you have nowhere to go and no one to turn to,” you reminded him, “so I will give you a place to stay for as long as you need. I want to do this.” That last part was stern, more so than you expected. He blinked a few times, piecing together his thoughts, and again, you struggled to read his face. There was no telling what he was thinking. Suddenly, a question you weren’t expected came forth. 

“How are my parents?” He asked. Fuck. This was exactly the question you didn’t want to answer. You could recall the nature of his mother’s death but not the exact year. You weren’t sure how to word this. 

“Um... your father is still alive. Last I heard, he’s doing as well as he can.” You started with the best news first. He only nodded, no distinguishable look on his face. 

“But not my mother.” It was more of a statement than a question. Your heart sunk, and you frowned more deeply than you would’ve liked. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice almost cracked. “She, uh... she died of cancer not too long ago.” You said with a sigh. He didn’t answer, just nodded. Again, no emotion that you could detect. There was a moment of silence, and he kept himself as still as stone, buried in a pensive state. 

“When are we leaving for Atlanta?” He suddenly asked, changing the subject leisurely. You blinked a few times and tried to process the question as if it were off putting. 

“Tomorrow morning, if that’s okay.” You added the last part quickly. 

“Yes, that’s fine.” He nodded, then his eyebrows knitted together, and his tone grew troubled. “You don’t have to consult with me about plans. They’re yours to make.”

“But your opinion matters.” You pointed out to him. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He nearly grinned but refrained. 

“That’s very kind of you.” Was all he said. “A week is just fine.” 

 

You and Jeffrey had a nice grilled chicken dinner with potato halves and corn on the cob. Little words were exchanged during dinner, just the scraping of utensils on glass plates. He kept his eyes to himself, staring down at the plate and nothing more. Very few times did he ever look at you, but when he did, it was more of a curious observation. You would glance at him too, almost expecting him to speak.  
As you opened your mouth to initiate forced small talk, the knob to your front door turned, and the door swung open unexpectedly. You jolted out of your skin, though Jeffrey remained still, unphased.  
Shit. 

“Yo,” Danny crashed in and shouted, “what’s going on-“ he stopped when he noticed Jeffrey in the room. Your stomach sank, unsure what to do in that very moment. “Shit, sorry dude. Didn’t realize you had company.” He chuckled and approached Jeffrey. “Hey, what’s up man! I’m Daniel.” He extended his hand to Dahmer, who took it in his own. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Jeffrey greeted plainly, his lips curling into a default introductory smile. “Jeffrey.” Your eyes widened, and you prayed that maybe Danny wouldn’t notice, but to your dismay, he stopped for a moment, and you could tell what was going on. He was taking a good look at Jeffrey’s features, eyes narrowed in concentration. Your cheeks grew hot with worry, though you tried desperately to shake it away. You knew that Danny knew full well what Jeffrey Dahmer looked like because  
you two had studied him in your forensics class, researching for hours and recreating photo ID sketches of the man. There was no way he couldn’t recognize him. Danny squinted his eyes, almost knowingly but with amusement. 

“Well, it’s good meeting you, Jeff. Hey,” Danny looked to you and pointed a finger, “Can you help me out with something in the kitchen?” You swallowed hard but remained calm. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” You got up from the table, hands shaking as you followed Danny into the kitchen. He held a tickled grin until you two made it into the kitchen and away from Jeffrey, then he bursted like a bubble with laughter. 

“Dude,” he breathed out between exhausted chuckles, “who’s your friend?” Your forehead began sweating. Fuck. He was going to find out. 

“Just a family friend.” You cleared your throat and replied. 

“Oh, come on! Do I have to say it?” He laughed and waited for a response from you, but your throat felt full of cotton. “That guy looks just like Jeffrey Dahmer! Shit’s crazy. His name’s even Jeffrey!” He could hardly stifle his round of giggles, but he had no idea what a laughing matter it was NOT. 

“Yeah. I mean, a little.” You chuckled nervously, relieved to know he didn’t actually think it was Jeffrey Dahmer. Just someone who looked similar, as you thought before. You loosened up a little. 

“No, dude. Like, this guy looks IDENTICAL to Dahmer.” He whisper yelled and whipped out his phone. You panicked at what you knew he was about to do, thinking of anything possible you could do to stop him. The search bar loaded, and within seconds, you were looking at the same face on Danny’s phone that’d been joining you for dinner the past few days. You felt nauseous. He held the picture up to where Dahmer was sitting in the next room, right beside his face, but instead of laughing even harder, his smile began to fade. You watched his once entertained expression fall, and his eyebrows knitted together in a sort of solicitous confusion. His eyes darted back and forth from Dahmer to the photo screenshot of his very last interview. He hadn’t changed a bit, glasses and all. Danny shot you an ice cold stare. He seemed breathless. 

“Danny, listen to me-“ you held a hand out in front of you, but he jerked away from you.

“No.” He snapped. “Who is this guy?“ He took a sharp breath, struggling to piece himself together. “Where did he come from-“ he stopped again and placed his hands on his hips in befuddlement. “You better tell me what’s going on right now, because THIS-“ he threw the picture up to your face forcefully, “is freaking me the fuck out.” You gave him a defeated grimace, your heart thudding in your ears so loud you couldn’t hear your own response. 

“Danny, I-“ you cut yourself off. 

“What’s this guy’s name? His REAL name.” Danny got very serious. You decided in that moment not to beat around the bush. It was time be honest. The cat was out of the bag. 

“You can’t tell anybody.” You said in a calm tone, your legs weighing you to the floor like stone. Danny backed away slowly with a disturbed and mangled twisting of facial muscles. “Danny-“

“No, stop!” He put a finger up, whisper yelling. “Just fucking stop!” His breath hitched in his throat. “You are NOT telling me Jeffrey fucking Dahmer is sitting in your goddamn dining room.” Without thinking, you grabbed him by the shoulders and dug your nails into the fabric of his jacket. 

“Listen to me, dammit!” You almost broke out of a whisper scream. “You cannot tell anybody. Just please listen.” You started with hot tears welling in your eyes, blurring your vision. You weren’t sure why you were starting to cry, but you chalked it up to the overwhelming havoc being wreaked on your sanity. The idea that you were losing your mind. Your throat closed in on you, your words choked up and incoherent. Danny watched you slice yourself into pieces until you composed yourself enough to get a sentence out. “He came to me, Danny. That question you asked me brought him to me. I know it.” You whispered slowly, sounding like a deranged basket case. “I didn’t believe it, but it’s him.” He sat in silence with you for a few seconds, then you collapsed into his arms, half expecting him to push you away in a fit of horror, but he didn’t. He held you, and though his hands trembled on you, he still shushed you into a relatively relaxed cocoon of warmth. When you pulled away, his eyes were wide with realization. 

“How is this even possible? What are you going to do?” He questioned at a rapid pace. You both glanced into the dining room at Jeffrey, who was finishing a bite of grilled chicken. He wiped his mouth neatly with a napkin and folded it, placing it in his lap. 

“I don’t know, man. I don’t know.” You gripped your hair in your hands, unsure of everything you’d planned. It was all falling apart. “I was just going to help him until he could get on his feet. I- I don’t know!” 

“So he can go back to killing people?! Are you fucking crazy?” Danny shouted quietly at you. 

“I don’t think he will, I really don’t. I think he’s got a chance.” You explained. “He just needs some guidance.”

“And you don’t think anybody will know who he is. He’s the most notorious killer there is!” 

“I don’t know, dammit! Just let me think! Fuck.” You put your face in your hands and drowned in the thick oiliness of your thoughts. There was no easy answer. “You can’t tell anybody.” He sighed sharply and glance back to Jeffrey, shuddering. 

“Alright, but you can’t let him out of your sight. Do you understand?” He grabbed you and pulled you close to his face. 

“Yeah, I got it.” You replied, and then there was silence. Neither of you spoke for a lengthy period of time, and it was Jeffrey’s fork clattering against his plate that kickstarted you back into the world. You and Danny exchanged agreed glances, then you both headed back into the dining room without a word. Before walking in, you grabbed Danny’s arm. “Remember, nobody can know.” You urged, a deadly serious depth in your tone. He gave you an unsure look, and you gripped tighter. “I’ve got this under control. He’ll be fine.” Danny nodded and grabbed a whisk from the cupboard, strolling back into the dining room with you. It was as if nothing ever happened. 

“Alright. thanks for letting me borrow your whisk. I’ll return it when I can.” Danny rang forth, holding the whisk out for you to see. You nearly forgot that he wanted ‘help in the kitchen’. 

“No problem!” You chimed in.

“I’ll see you around, Jeffrey!” Danny waved goodbye and hurriedly shut the door behind him, rightfully so. It was just you and Jeffrey now. 

“Hey, sorry about that.” You cleared your throat and sat across from him, noticing that he already finished his meal. He straightened in his chair. 

“It’s fine. Is everything alright?” He asked, and you nodded quickly. 

“Yeah, just prepping for the trip tomorrow morning.” You kept an unblinking eye on him, now more careful than before, thanks to Danny. Jeffrey moved from the table to the kitchen sink in a Frankenstein’s hobble, washing off his plate and carefully placing the glass dish into the dishwasher. It was a gentleness you didn’t know he possessed. After, he sat where he came from, directly across from you. The room was cloaked in an awkward silence before he spoke up. 

“Daniel recognized me.” He noted in his generally gentle tone. You were never really sure what was and wasn’t a question when he spoke, but you nodded in agreement regardless. He didn’t say anything immediately, nor did he make any sound, just zoned out. You waited until he broke out of thought before trying to talk to him, not wanting to me rude. 

“We had to study you pretty extensively in my forensics class. I was surprised it took him as long as it did. Dumbass.” You dropped your head and chuckled to yourself, praising Danny’s vacuity until a noise from Jeffrey caught your attention. You glanced up, expecting his usual stone stare, but no.  
He was laughing too, faintly and with a weak smile, but laughing nonetheless. What an odd sight it was, Jeffrey Dahmer laughing with you. That was one for the books.


	5. Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip will be taxing, though not nearly as much as the thought of having to keep a serial killer under wraps around your family.

“Do you have everything you need?” You asked, taking your bag and the extra bag you let Jeffrey use and shoving them into the backseat alongside your school bag. After your lengthy shopping spree for Jeffrey the other day, he had plenty of clothes to last him a trip to Atlanta. Normally, you fly by plane to visit your aunt, considering Atlanta is a good few states away. However, you absolutely could NOT bring Jeffrey anywhere near an airport. He’d be spotted, identified, and cuffed immediately, and the thought alone was enough to make you want to puke. So your plan was to drive. 

“Yes, everything’s packed.” He answered with a waiting head tilt as you crammed tons of shit in the back. He motioned to let himself in the spot you were standing. “May I?” He asked, and you looked his towering figure up and down before moving out of the way for him. With a careful hand, he picked up your ridiculously heavy bag with one hand, and with the other, rearranged the bags in the back until an entire seat was cleared. He sat your stuff down, leaving you marveling at how effortless it looked to him, as if weight weren’t even a concept. He looked the car over and turned to you. “You’re driving the entire way?” He questioned.

“Yeah, is that okay?” You asked, and he shot a puzzled look. “I just... can’t bring you to an airport, ya know?” 

“I see.” He simply nodded. 

“Will you be okay for an entire car ride?” You asked, and he only nodded, heading to the passenger side and getting in the car. He was ready to go. God, you hoped this could work out. 

 

The first two hours of the trip were excruciating. There was no music or dialogue of any kind. Only observation. He skimmed over everything you passed with his stare, and you hadn’t even thought of how much things have changed since he lived there. It wasn’t until hour three that he struck up conversation. It was mostly questions regarding the progression of technology. The changing environment he hadn’t been exposed to. It fascinated him greatly, and he had a good few questions, but you had more. Not about life though. About him. For every question he asked, you asked one too. Prit quo quo. You played as many stations on the radio as you could, showing him just how music has changed. He, at the same time, shared stories of pleasant times in his childhood, though he spoke carefully and on a surface level. He never gave you everything you wanted to hear, just enough to answer your question. You didn’t ask about anything terribly personal or sensitive, as you recalled his tendency to close up to people. 

After a very in-depth discussion about religion that, surprisingly, left both of you on the same page, you noticed him with his eyes down. He’d run out of stuff to keep him occupied. He was still. 

“I have some poetry and stuff in my book bag if you want to take a look at it. Just to keep you busy and stimulated, ya know?” You pointed to the backseat at your bag, and he reached a tree trunk arm out to it, pulling out a binder full of papers. 

“Thank you.” He said and flipped through the pages in front of him. He shifted his new glasses as he read. “Alice Walker...” he thought aloud, and you weren’t entirely sure if he did or didn’t like it. He continued shuffling through a series of poems that you were forced to study and annotate in class, then he stopped. You kept your eyes on the road, every twist and turn of the backroad yours to maneuver around in the quiet of your vehicle. Then the silence was broken. Jeffrey’s thin peach lips separated, and he let out a deep chuckle. He was laughing. You glanced out of the corner of your eye and noticed an undeniable hidden smile painted across his face. Something was amusing. 

“What? What is it?” You asked, smiling without your knowledge. He looked to you and turned the paper around for you to read. It was an another Alice Walker poem.

Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts

The title of Walker’s poem had Dahmer in a giggle fit, and you’d almost forgotten why. Then it hit you, and your shoulders tensed like a coiled spring. Part of you wanted to laugh alongside him since he genuinely thought it was funny, but another piece of you was petrified. He was known for his unsettling sense of humor, but you never understood the fullest extent of it until now. It certainly creeped you out, but his laughter was so rare and contagious to you that you had to join in. What an odd thing to happen, Jeffrey Dahmer laughing at the irony of a cannibalistic poem title with you. 

 

It was pitch black outside when you began putting motels into your GPS. Your eyelids were beginning to falter, and you were certain Jeffrey wanted some rest too, since he’d been dozing in and out for the last hour. The light from your phone screen illuminated the dark, and in your peripheral vision, you could see Jeffrey’s head shift slowly. He was waking up. You frantically turned the brightness on your phone down before proceeding, but it was too late. He rubbed his eyes under glasses, pushing them up as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“What time is it?” He asked with a gravely tiredness in his throat.

“12:30.” You answered. “I’m looking for motels for the night.” You both sat for a moment in silence, and you hoped he’d fall back asleep in the placidness of the vehicle. Unfortunately, he was now wide awake, having blinked and widened his crystal eyes a number of times. Your eyes, however, were now burning. Aching for release. 

“I could drive.” He suggested with no particular mood established. You considered it for a moment, but the overall idea of Jeffrey Dahmer, a man who last drove in the early 90s, navigating a new car through Atlanta traffic was almost physically painful. Even at this time of night, it was still rough. 

“Oh, you don’t have to. It’s still a long drive, and to Atlanta.” You replied softly, eyes fixed on the highway. 

“Are you sure? You’ve driven for a long time...” He asked, though there was more to his sentence, some that you couldn’t quite understand. His words were fading out of comprehension, and you struggled to grasp the meaning of what he was saying. 

“Uh huh...” you droned out in a single sound, and suddenly, you found your vision framing, washed out in a sea of of moving yellow lines on the road. The road itself blurred into a large grey tongue, the mouth, the backs of your eyelids. Before you could produce enough thought to pull your head up and focus on the road, the steering wheel shifted under your fingertips. You weren’t in control of it. Once you realized the wheel had been moving without your directory, you jerked your head up and looked around in a frenzy, expecting to find yourself driving head-on into a ditch. But that wasn’t the case. Right next to your hand, Jeffrey’s was gripped tight around the wheel, maintaining control of it as he leaned in closer. He kept you from crashing. 

“Get some sleep. I’ll drive.” He nearly demanded. You reluctantly nodded, picking up the pieces of your scattered mindset and pulling off to the side of the road with haste. You switched spots with Jeffrey, stumbling over rocks in the dark to get to the passenger side, and with barely enough time to buckle up, you began falling into the void. You tried desperately to stay awake in case anything were to happen, but it was hopeless. The low hum of the engine and Jeffrey’s steady breathing lulled you into slumber’s inescapable gravitational pull. 

 

You awoke to the smell of something creamy and meaty. A soup or broth of some kind. A faint ray of God’s light peaked in from the window, glinting in your eye, and you extended your arms out to your sides, only then realizing you were laying down on a familiar set of sheets. The fabric sent waves of memory and experience through you, reminding you of a better time and place. You felt through the sheets, blinking slowly in recollection. With unbothered eyes, you scanned the interior of the room, each and every wall within your visual grasp. You soon realized you’d made it to your great aunt Maggie’s home in Atlanta, but how? It took a moment before the spark in your brain ignited, but when it did, the explosion was massive. 

Shit. Dahmer. 

You flung yourself out of bed, slipping on the floor in hysteria. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

Your feet carried you quickly down the hall, though not nearly quickly enough to settle you. It felt like the walls of aunt Maggie’s corridor stretched, forcing you to run harder and faster. You had to get to Dahmer. God only knows where he was. What he was doing. Had he been found out? Was he already in cuffs? The questions spewed endlessly, none of them with definitive answers. 

You slung open door after door, shouting for him as you went. It wasn’t until you traced the scent of food into the dining room that you bursted into the room to find him. He sat across from your great aunt, both of them with friendly smiles on their faces. Dahmer held a soup spoon delicately in his hand.

“Oh, speak of the devil!” Your aunt Maggie rang out, nudging Jeffrey’s arm playfully, and the two laughed amongst themselves lightly. It seemed like they were talking about you at some point. “Poor Jeffrey here had to carry you inside. Looked like you were dead, you were so out of it.” She snickered to herself, taking a sip of tea, and you made a face. You moved to them with caution and sat at the table, your eyes narrowed.

“So... you’ve met?” You asked, mind still groggy. It was a stupid question in hindsight, not that you noticed at the time. 

“Oh yeah. He’s a real sweetie.” She patted him on the shoulder, and a tender smile swept his face and shifted his glasses, but only for a millisecond. His stone stare returned without warning. “I think you did good on this one.” Aunt Maggie whispered to you teasingly, almost out of Jeffrey’s earshot. Almost. The meaning of her words didn’t click until the next few moments. 

“No no no, aunt Maggie...” you got her attention discretely, hardly above a whisper, shaking your head. You made a bat swinging motion and tilted your head to the side. Swinging for the other team. 

“Oh...” she smiled warmly and winked in understanding. She was no homophobe, so you didn’t have any problem letting her know. It was certainly better than telling her who he really was. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, baby!” Aunt Maggie gave Jeffrey a gentle rub of the shoulders and scooted from the table, turning to you. “Let me fix you some soup, hmm? It’s about lunch time now.” She got up with her usual glow and shot us a gleaming smile. With that, she glided into the kitchen and was out of sight. You took a relieved breath, relaxing your body next to Jeffrey. Just the two of you. 

“You weren’t heavy.” He noted out of nowhere, almost to reassure you. You shot him a confused look, not sure what exactly he was referring to, and he continued. “When she said I carried you inside, you scrunched your face.” He crinkled his nose on cue. “I didn’t want you to think you were heavy.” He cleared his throat and said nothing else in that moment. 

“Oh...” you started to respond but gave up trying to find what to say to him. “Are you okay?” You asked. 

“Yes, I’m fine. She’s been hospitable.” He replied. “She said I’m familiar though.” At his response, your throat closed in on you, and burning lava began dripping down your shoulders and neck. This is exactly what you were afraid of. Everyone was going to know. What’s worse was remembering that your great aunt Maggie attended Revere for high school, class of 79’. That was just one year behind Dahmer. She was going to find out, then everyone would. Soon, the entire world would know that Jeffrey Dahmer was alive, and more so, that it was all your fault. In your panicked thought, you met his unphased gaze. It didn’t seem to matter at all to him, and that frightened you. 

“Why don’t we head out?” You suggested. It was obvious that you were mortified about something, but you were determined not to show it. “Did you get enough sleep to go out?” 

“Yes,” Jeffrey nodded in agreement, “but where are we going?” He questioned. 

A good number of places popped into your head, but in all honesty, it didn’t matter too much where you went. So long as nobody would have enough time or patience to look him in the eyes extensively, he’d be fine. Nobody would ever find out about him. Suddenly, and without the slightest bit of forethought, the lightbulb in your mind zimmered to life. 

“I know exactly where we’re going.”


	6. Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in Atlanta to ease the tension. However, it may not go the way you think. The world is a crazy place, after all.

It didn’t seem like a good idea on the surface, but you knew it would help more than it would hurt. Jeffrey needed to see the boundless potential he had and what a benefit to society he could be. This was the only way you knew how to utilize an affliction as evil as his. 

 

He skimmed the bold white lettering on the side of the door and turned to you. 

“Bodies?” He asked, a definite touch of interest laced in his words. You’d aroused his curiosity already. 

“Yeah, it’s a scientific exhibit.” You explained, though words would do no justice. “Come on.” You urged, wanting to get him off the crowded sidewalk. He followed behind you, not fully prepared but anxious, wandering watchers aimed everywhere. You could only hope this would help. Fingers crossed. 

 

“Well, what do you think?” You asked, circling the display in front of you. Within inches of your face, a man’s body was cut completely in half, exposing the innerworkings. The face revealed the entire jaw with every tooth and muscle surrounding the bone, the skull, showing brain. Muscle lined certain parts of the rib cages, and tendons traced over the stripped arms of the once living man. It almost looked like a Halloween decoration, and while it left you feeling somewhat ill, there was something interesting about it. It was hard to believe it was real. You glanced up to Jeffrey, whose eyes weren’t necessarily wide, but wider than usual, entranced. 

“I-“ he stopped, silently awestruck. “It’s just here for people to see? Whenever they want?” He asked. He clearly couldn’t imagine the public being that interested in the careful dismemberment and display of corpses. At least, not nearly as much as him. 

“Yeah, you can come here whenever.” You assured, keeping your eyes on him to ensure that he didn’t get too excited. He scaled the entire male body twice, his stare lingering at the lower half. You were starting to get nervous, though you maintained composure, not wanting Jeffrey to think you didn’t trust him. He looked the man over a few more times, then he turned his attention to you. 

“Why did you bring me here?” He asked before nearly chuckling to himself bitterly. “Aside from the irony.” 

“I want you to see what all you can do.” You explained. “You don’t have to resort to the life you used to have. You can do things, like this, that interest you that are useful to society.” You continued with a lump forming in your throat. “So long as you don’t find it...” You cleared your throat and looked around for eavesdroppers, “sexually appealing.” You waited for a response, half expecting the usual ‘yes, I understand.’ That’s not what you got. What came out was worse. 

“I still think about it,” Jeffrey confessed, “but I’m trying to keep myself under control. It’s not so much the dismemberment that uh... was a turn on... as much as it was having complete control and domination over someone.” He frequently stopped mid sentence to find the right words. You found it odd how open to talking he was in that moment, though maybe he just wanted to get an explanation off his chest. 

“Then why do it? The dismemberment?” You asked, more genuinely curious than afraid. He shrugged as you two walked up to another piece. This one was an entire arm, stripped of everything except blood vessels. You could tell what it was even with only vessels, which stunned you. The human body was truly amazing. 

“That’s why.” Jeffrey pointed to the arm vessels with his probing eyes. He could see the awestruck wonder on your face when you looked at the arm in all of its odd beauty. “It’s interesting, to me, to look at. I like to see what’s inside the body.” He simply stated. You could understand that, as fucked up as it was. “That, and I wanted some... physical piece of them, I suppose. To be a part of me.” He scrunched his nose trying to explain his unusual feelings to you, and you could only nod in comprehension, not understanding. 

“That’s why you ate some of them?” You inquired, and he nodded. 

“Yes.” He stopped in thought, leaving you wondering if he was only going to give you a usual vague answer in this midst of his strange openness. However, he took a breath and continued. “ I wanted to internalize them, I guess.” He adjusted his glasses before you proceeded into the next room. 

You didn’t ask any more questions over the fear of the answers you’d get, so you only watched as Jeffrey scanned the bodies. He voluntarily gave you information about certain parts of the body as you passed them, enlightening you of facts that only a serial killer could know to be true. He also stopped for every information card beside the displays to read, immersed in the text. It wasn’t until you went to walk into the next room that you realized it was the exit, and Jeffrey was hesitant to follow. He didn’t want it to be over. 

 

After the exhibit, you took him to a less popular burger joint in the hopes that nobody would notice him. You were sorrily mistaken. He got a few stares, some from unnerved women, some from fascinated and very obviously gay men downtown. As he ate with you, he couldn’t help but notice a couple of men sitting at the table across from you, holding hands and occasionally kissing, as any normal couple would. He had several questions, though his most prominent was ‘I could have that?’ It hurt. 

 

“Some people like being hurt, but ya know, obviously don’t keep hurting them if they give the safe word.” You explained. He nodded. He asked for you to delve further into the modern mechanics of ‘masochism’, and while you were hesitant, you explained it. Things definitely changed from 1991 to 2019, that’s for sure. 

“Yes, I know.” He paused as you two walked down the dark streets of Atlanta. It had to have been past midnight. “What about knifeplay? It’s a common thing?” You felt like he just wanted to hear how normalized it was, maybe to feel better about his actions. You reluctantly opened your mouth. 

“It’s dangerous and can be easily misdirected. There’s a lot that could go wrong.” You warned, putting emphasis on every word to ensure that he absolutely understood what you were saying. He was silent for a second, then he chanced a glance to you. You only saw it for a fraction of a second, but it was there, in his eyes.

Lust. 

“Woah, Jeffrey.” You walked ahead of him, stepping in his way and putting a hand on his chest. “I don’t want you getting wrapped up in bad habits.” 

“I know.” He answered. “I just want to know what’s okay.” 

“ I get that, but I don’t want you to get closer and closer to doing bad things.” You grew frustrated, more so knowing you were to blame. “Getting comfortable with that is a breeding ground for temptation.” You crossed your arms, and he sighed. He understood that you were right. 

“I know.” He sighed, dropping his head. 

“I just want you to get used to a normal relationship when, or if, you get to that point. I don’t want you getting into trouble, Jeffrey.” Your heart wrenched, unable to contain the feeling of losing hope. It was a horrible roller coaster of faith in him, and you couldn’t get off of it. He understood you and wanted to do what he could to live a somewhat normal life, if possible. He followed your word without question, possibly because he knew what he could become without you keeping him in line. 

 

Suddenly, you found yourself outside of a cookie place, and you smiled widely. Finally, something to break the tension. 

“Wanna head inside and get something for dessert?” You asked, pointing to the glass doors, and he nodded. 

“Sure, why not?” He made for the door, opening it. That’s when you realized, without forethought, that your ferns at home were on the verge of death. Shit. You weren’t sure what made you think of that, but you’re glad you remembered. 

“You go ahead,” you told him, “I’m going to make a call to Danny real quick.” He nodded and proceeded inside, and while you were apprehensive about leaving him alone for people to see, you flipped your phone open and dialed anyways. The phone rang in your ear, resting against your cheek while you waited for Danny to pick up. Though just as you were about to shut it and try again, a horribly sharp pain shot through your stomach, and within seconds you were on the ground. 

“Agh,” you cried in agony, curled in a ball, and you looked up. A short, burly man stood over you with a hoodie over his face, unfamiliar to you. You quickly realized that you were in horrible danger, a situation like in the movies, except it was happening to YOU. You couldn’t move, your body in shock from the blow to the stomach, and you couldn’t tell if you were bleeding or not. Suddenly, the man rushed down to you, his hands reaching for your shirt as he ripped you from the ground. Your shirt came up with you, and he seized the opportunity to grip you under your clothes. You struggle to make sound but could only produce pained wheezes and tears. You figured that this was your inevitable end. That nobody would notice you were dead and gone until someone passed by on the street. Until Jeffrey What a horrible way to go. What a waste.   
You held your hands to your face, bracing for the worst, but as the man’s arm came down, you felt no pain. Your eyes, once squeezed shut, battered open to see the man gasping and choking, his face twisted into a pained expression. He was in Jeffrey’s grasp. He towered over the man, both hands shaking as they gripped his throat with full force. The man’s face quickly turned red, tears forming in his eyes, and he fought against Jeffrey with no success. His feet scuffed the ground, kicking against Jeffrey, though Jeffrey stood like stone. His stare bored into the man, eyes widening slightly as life left the man’s gaping mouth. Jeffrey was killing him. 

“Wait,” you cried, “Jeffrey, stop!” You stumbled to your feet and reached him in a flash of panic, wrapping your hands around his arm and pulling him. “Jeffrey, let him go!” His grip was iron, even as you tugged on him, begging for release. The tears in your eyes spilled over, and he finally broke his malicious stare into the dying man to face you. When he realized you were crying, he let go immediately, and your attacker collapsed to the cold, harsh concrete like a crumpled toy. He didn’t struggle to get up or even gasp for air, just laid still. Oh God, did Jeffrey kill the guy? You quickly knelt to the man’s level and pushed past his collar, sticking two fingers up to his neck. There was a moment of nothingness. Coldness. Then you felt a weak thudding. Thank God, he was alive. You rose to meet Dahmer, unsure of what to do now. You flashed Jeffrey a horrified expression, a ‘what now?’ look in your eyes.

“He’s still breathing, but we should get out of here before anybody sees.” You suggested, and he stepped closer to you, a gesture that you knew meant agreement. You two took off under the cover of night, leaving the man to rot. 

 

You both made it home, and it was mutually decided that you were to leave first thing tomorrow morning, even despite aunt Maggie’s growing fondness for Jeffrey. The incident a few hours prior was too close a call to simply ignore, so yes, leaving was most certainly your best option. It didn’t matter much that it was a horribly long drive for only one day, since you and Jeffrey decided to venture through the states on your way back and see some new things. As you left the kitchen for bed, Jeffrey got your attention and pulled a small plastic bag from his pocket. 

It was the cookies from the shop you were attacked by. He’d bought and left a few for you. Thanks, Jeffrey.


	7. Hungry Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half the trip back home. Invested conversation with this killer, as well as a journey down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Got a bit caught up in my art sales and apartment searches! But fret not, am here :) the next chapter will be posted very soon!

“Witnesses say that an young, unidentified woman, doubled over on the ground, had been attacked by a man identified as Jackie Lolez. That’s when a ‘tall blonde man’ exited the bakery nearby and defended the woman, asphyxiating Lolez to near death with both hands. Police have no leads as to who the supposed blonde hero is, though Lolez gave officers a first name for investigation: Jeffrey. No other physically description was provided. He plans to press charges.” 

 

You woke up that morning while it was still dark to find Jeffrey already awake, and you left before having a chance to say goodbye to aunt Maggie. Although, nearing 8am, she gave you a call and asked to say goodbye to her new favorite friend of yours. Now 10am, the car fell into silence. It was the radio that sucked you out of your peace of mind. 

 

“You know, I personally don’t think Lolez will get anywhere pressing charges.” A sudden commentator scraped through the car speakers, and your ease quickly returned and spread to your chest. “The Good Samaritan Law has been set in place for situations like this.” 

“Yes, but with the excessive force he used on Lolez, do you think he abuses the law in any way?” A lady’s voice cut in. The male voice scoffed. 

“Of course not. He had every right to do whatever means necessary to ensure the young woman’s safety. I think this ‘Jeffrey’ should be left in anonymity-“ you cut the radio off with a sharp sigh, unable to listen to any more of it. Listening to details of YOUR attack was almost nauseating, and you wished you hadn’t stupidly used his name in public. 

“Radio’s overrated anyways...” you chuckled nervously with your hands glued to the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Suddenly, after a few minutes of silence and with no thought, a question sprung to mind, and unfortunately, you wasted no time asking. “Do you remember a Lloyd Figg?” You could hardly register your own voice, and you glanced in your peripheral vision to find Jeffrey flashing a faint grin. You remembered the boy mentioned in a graphic novel about Dahmer, Lloyd Figg, who was described as a freak. A total spazz. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember Figg. We uh... we used to get high together. After graduation, he would come over all the time.” He recalled fondly. “He was the last school friend I had, troubled as he was.” 

“Did anything ever slip out around him? Ya know, about... what you did...?” You asked, remembering back to the novel, My Friend Dahmer. Apparently, Figg once pranced around at a party claiming that he ‘knew a secret’ shortly after associating with Jeffrey. This was after Jeffrey’s first murder. He didn’t spill the supposed secret though, and even now, John Backderf, the writer of the novel, isn’t sure what Figg could have known. 

“He said something?” Jeffrey asked, his interest growing as though you’d said something of significance. You swallowed hard, unsure if you wanted him to know about Derf’s comic, but you had to say SOMETHING. 

“No.” You said simply, too simply. “He... just said that he knew a secret. That’s all. He didn’t say what.” You prayed that Jeffrey wouldn’t pry any further, but you were absolutely wrong. His eyebrows knitted together. 

“Where’d you hear that?” He was calm, genuinely curious, and held no worry or malice in his question. It nearly eased you, but your anxiety endured. 

“I- um...” you started to concoct a story, but you couldn’t lie to him. You just didn’t want him to know about the comic. Why? You weren’t sure. It was a depiction of HIS teen years, after all, but even still, the idea of him reading about what lead to his ultimate demise unsettled you. You didn’t want those memories flooding back to him, recounting things he may have let go. However, he’d been cooperative, honest about what he was feeling, open to any conversation of your choosing. You realized that it was only fair to be truthful, and besides, you wouldn’t want him to distrust you later. You sighed. “Do you remember a guy named John Backderf?” You braced for his response, but he only nodded, his lips curling into an undeniable smile. He reminisced. 

“Of course, Derf.” He chuckled to himself. “We had a lot of fun times in high school.” His smile lingered as he spoke. 

“Yeah, he’s currently a graphic novelist. In fact...” you cleared your throat, preparing yourself, “...he wrote a comic about you.” At the sound of your words, Jeffrey perked up. 

“Really?” He asked with more interest than you’d ever heard from him. 

“Yeah. That’s how I found out about Figg.” You sighed, still anxious, but less so now that Jeffrey was enthused and collected. He seemed fascinated. 

“What all does the comic cover?” He asked. 

“Your life in high school. Lots of stuff.”

“Like what?” He persisted, leaving you frustrated. 

“Where everything started.” You explained bluntly. “From the interior decorator to the D.C. trip. The fits. Command Performance. A lot.” He went quiet for a moment, piecing together what you were saying, then he gave a knowing nod. 

“Sounds like he got all of it.” He mused, looking out the window, half smile still present. “I thought he’d be the one to do it. He created a sort of fan club of me junior year, if I remember correctly. Drew me all over school. I sat in the hallway with him and watched him while he worked sometimes.” He went quiet before licking his lips. “Could I read it?” He asked innocently. Your mouth went dry, and you struggled to verbally explain why he shouldn’t. It was a bad idea, but then again, it’s nothing he doesn’t already still feel. He himself experienced it. Not you. 

“Yeah, the book’s at home.” You answered and scrambled to change the subject. “But he did mention the Dahmer Fanclub, and some of his drawings are in the comic. ‘Dahmer as a Bag of Groceries’ and a poster for someone named Rebo.” He suddenly bellowed with laughter, a laugh you’d never heard from him before. Genuine amusement, and it almost startled you. It was so... sudden. You didn’t understand it. 

“Al Rebo,” He repeated, breathless, “gosh, I haven’t heard that name in a while.” He could hardly contain his laughter, and though he quickly settled down, his schoolboy smile remained. “Alright,” he started to explain, “so Rebo never actually existed as a student. A friend of mine and I conjured him up, but he was all over the school. Even ran him for student council.” You laughed with him, stunned at the normality of his youth for even the merest of moments. “Funny thing, he actually got more votes than any other candidate.” He let out a guttural show of amusement and you joined him, the two of you enjoying the ride with a recollection of stories. It felt good to laugh since it rarely happened, though midway, you realized that Jeffrey never answered your question: did Lloyd Figg ever find something out? You couldn’t recall Jeffrey ever explaining that. You felt the urge to ask again, though you fought against it, dreading his possible answer. You ultimately decided to let the mystery continue. 

 

“Never forget the power of forgiveness! Never ever ever! If God didn’t want nothin’ to do with you, he woulda left you out to dry! Oh, glory!” A powerful black voice boomed to the congregation. 

You and Jeffrey had taken a pit stop to the nearest church possible in Tennessee, per Dahmer’s request. There was not one white face in the building, and even though you were right as rain and the most comfortable you could’ve ever been, you worried about Jeffrey. He may have said that his killings were not racially motivated, but a hint of dread still bubbled in you. Perhaps a darker complexion DID help drive the compulsion. It wasn’t until the whole “greet yourself” part of service came and went that you realized how controlled Jeffrey was of himself. A young black boy, maybe a couple years younger than you dressed in a lavender button up and bow tie, turned around and shook Jeffrey’s hand firmly. His face was gorgeous, dark lashes and green eyes, but Jeffrey didn’t seem to pay much attention at all. He simply put on a smile and played the part, taking a seat shortly after. You were almost shocked at how well he blended in, ironically enough in your current location. You expected more people to recognize him, more stares. However, with his modified style, you supposed maybe you had everyone fooled for good, even with your consistent doubts. 

“Who are we to condemn?” The woman shouted, provoking an overwhelming reaction from the entire congregation.  
“Amen!” All in unison.  
“Who are we to judge?”  
“Amen!”  
“Oh Lord, who are we to cast stones?”  
“Amen!”  
“Y’all betta NEVER forget who gave you the strength to forgive others, because the Lord forgave YOU in your hungry hour!” She pointed out into the crowd with a seemingly aimless finger, though it would’ve pierced Jeffrey right in the heart if it were an arrow. He nodded once with his eyes fixed to her, listening as if it would be the last time he’d ever hear the Word. He clung to every sentence until dismissal and only breathed in relaxation as we left the building. 

 

“That was...” Jeffrey spoke after almost two hours of complete silence in the car. You were now in Kentucky. “...refreshing.” You jerked your head to the side, oddly eager to see his reaction as he talked about church. “I needed that.” 

“It was nice.” You commented in agreement, hoping to get more conversation out of him. Unfortunately, he went mute yet again. You cleared your throat and thought desperately about how to spur conversation, though very little came up with the exception of a few burning questions. You weren’t sure if you should ask or not; you didn’t want him reliving such a sickening past. However, your mind buzzed helplessly. 

“Jeffrey?” You couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” 

“You said you remembered...” you trailed off, giving yourself one last chance to stop yourself from bombarding him with troubling questions. Unfortunately, you persisted, curiosity tugging at your tongue. “You said you could remember your death.” You ripped off the bandaid and asked as bluntly as you could, face forcing a blank slate. He nodded in your side vision. 

“I do.” He confirmed. “Every minute.” That’s when the chills began creeping up your arms. You didn’t like this. The way he spoke about his own murder was so emotionless. 

“The media said you didn’t move or- speak or anything when you were attacked.” There was a slight hesitation. “You didn’t fight back, they said. Didn’t make a sound.” 

“My bones did.” He said as though making a lighthearted joke, complete with a witty tone of voice, but you were NOT laughing. If anything, you were more creeped out. “But no, I didn’t fight back.” 

“Why?” You probed, almost not wanting to know. “You’re so much bigger than them. You could’ve fought him off.” He considered this for a moment. 

“You’re right. I could have.” 

“Then why not?” 

He went completely quiet, his face set like a marble statue. The usual. You assumed he dropped the question altogether and nearly gave up on the hope that he would answer. That’s when he flicked his tongue across his lips and cleared his throat. 

“It was my time, I suppose.” His voice grew soft. You said nothing but prayed he’d continue. You hated how vague his answers could be at times. “Some part of me always believed that being alive was a sin against the Lord.” You listened, mortified with a wrenching pain in your chest. How could he think that way? That simply breathing was against God’s plan? As if God isn’t merciful and loving against even the most unforgivable of people. What a skewed perception. 

“You know that’s not true, right?” You asked, and he shrugged his broad shoulders before nodding. 

“I know, and I’m grateful for His mercy.” 

He was. 

 

Before long, your eyes began failing you, even in daylight. Nearing the Kentucky border, you wrestled with your body for control of consciousness, though to no avail. There’s something about driving that’s horribly sleep-inducing. The hum of the engine had a hold on you, and you melted into it. 

“Here, let me drive.” Jeffrey suggested with his hand on the wheel, and you jerked your head up, his voice sending you into alert. You didn’t fight this time, only nodded and pulled off the side of the road. You knew you were beyond your ability to drive safely. A few buckles and door slams later, and you and Jeffrey had switched places. He was at the wheel again. You nestled deeper into the seat, your body settling like a deflating mattress: unhurriedly. “Get some sleep. I know where to go.” He assured, giving you an odd comfort, enough so that you felt you could close your eyes. And you did. 

 

The engine lulled you to sleep like a mother cradling a baby, the road’s unevenness bouncing you on its knee and sushing you. Your limbs weighed more than you could possibly lift, not that it mattered to you. You were in a better place, and there was no need to leave. You sunk like a stone into it. 

 

You awoke and stretched the heavenliest stretch known to man before you looked around and realized the car was parked. Odd. You looked at the clock on your phone. It had only been four hours since you closed your eyes, not nearly enough time to be back in Milwaukee. You turned to Jeffrey only to find that the driver’s seat was empty. Even odder. Confused, yet not quite alarmed, you lifted yourself up to the window. Perhaps he stopped for gas on the way back. You sighed to yourself, relieved at how much better he was at planning ahead, though when you looked out the window, the relief fled you. There was no gas station in sight. In fact, you had no idea where you were; the area looked completely foreign. All you could register was that you were in someone’s driveway. 

Fuck. 

Not knowing or caring whose house Jeffrey Dahmer was in, you ripped your seatbelt off and kicked the car door wide open, all but sprinting out of your skin. You hoped that you weren’t too late. That nobody’s face was half mauled. That nobody was lying dead in a pool of blood in the house. You tripped over your own feet and practically broke the front door down to get inside, stumbling to the floor clumsily. 

“Jeffrey!” You shouted as you fumbled to your feet and pressed onward, again, not caring whose home you’d just busted into. “Jeffrey!” Your heart pounded in your throat as you called for him, staggering through each room until you made it into the living room and collapsed to the floor, right at two pairs of feet. You glanced up weakly, and there sat Jeffrey, sitting politely on the couch with a man at his side. You didn’t recognize him at all. The two were eating what looked like sandwiches. 

“Are you alright?” The unfamiliar man asked you, meeting you at the carpeted flooring and helping you to you feet. “Here.” He guided you to a small pink footstool and sat you down, bringing a blanket down on your shoulders. 

“Yes, sir. I’m okay.” You assured, though your head was a bit fuzzy from all the panicked rushing after a long nap. You were quite shaken, to say the least, and with that, you gathered yourself into the bundle of fabric. You locked eyes with Jeffrey as the man sat back down next to him, and when he got your attention, he opened his mouth to address you. 

“This is my father.”


End file.
